


turn the world to gold

by wordslinging



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, Catholic Guilt, Crying, Explicit Sexual Content, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Reunions, Romance, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25480159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging
Summary: He's imagined their reunion many times. He's imagined sweeping Nicolo off his feet with eloquent declarations of undying devotion, imagined being the one swept off his feet by Nicolo’s quiet sincerity. He's even imagined the unlikely possibility that the spark will have died, that the sight of Nicolowon'tset a fire in his blood the way it always has.Or: Oh,thattime in Malta.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 109
Kudos: 1409





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yeah, this is just smut. A bunch of smut. And feelings. I mean, the answer to "what happened that time in Malta" seems pretty obviously "they fucked a LOT", but also Nicky and Joe have probably fucked a lot in a lot of places, so I ended up feeling like for this particular time to be so memorable, it was likely also some pretty Emotionally Significant Fucking. So here's a bunch of emotionally significant smut with an extremely vague timeline that's basically "sometime between the end of the Crusades and the start of the Renaissance".

Like all places that have been inhabited for millennia, trading one ruler for another along the way, Malta is utterly changed but still feels somehow familiar. The old buildings deemed worthy of preservation still stand, while others that once stood with them have been demolished to make room for the new. There are more Catholic churches and more people speaking Italian than the last time Yusuf was here, and his Arab features attract enough looks--some merely curious, some outright suspicious--that he keeps his hood up and his head down as he makes his way along the coast.

The little fishing village where he and Nicolo last saw one another is still there, but the building where they promised to meet again is not. Yusuf takes a gamble on which of the available villagers seems least likely to report him to the authorities for the crime of looking Muslim, and gets lucky with a old woman who remembers that a Genovan man with green eyes passed through early this morning. When Yusuf presses a coin into her weathered hand, he gets directions to where the stranger has most likely found lodging along with a sincere, if unsolicited, offer to pray for his soul.

A little further down the coast he finds it, a squat little building with walls of pale stone and a doorstep recently swept clean of dust and sand. Yusuf pauses at the threshold and closes his eyes for a moment, remembering the last time they were together.

The time apart was Nicolo's idea, to see if the mad spark of passion that led them from tangling on the battlefield to entanglements of a very different kind would stand the test of time and distance. _To be sure this is what we both really want_ , he'd said. Yusuf has never wanted anything more and can't imagine he'll ever want it any less, but he conceded the wisdom of the plan. Still, he'd argued for a shorter time apart, Nicolo for longer, until they'd compromised on twenty years. A seeming eternity when Yusuf wants Nicolo back in his arms more than he wants air in his lungs, but the blink of an eye compared to all the time stretching out before them. 

The door to the cottage is unbarred, opening onto a sparse but clean room. On a table in the center, a loaf of fresh bread and a wedge of white cheese sit on a brightly-colored cloth, a bowl full of figs and olives and a jug of something resting beside them. Yusuf hears movement in the next room, and steps through the open doorway. 

He's imagined their reunion many times. He's imagined sweeping Nicolo off his feet with eloquent declarations of undying devotion, imagined being the one swept off his feet by Nicolo’s quiet sincerity. He's even imagined the unlikely possibility that the spark will have died, that the sight of Nicolo _won't_ set a fire in his blood the way it always has.

Nicolo, of course, surpasses all his expectations. He's standing in front of a wash basin clad in only a pair of trousers, a clean linen shirt held in his hands. Water drips from the ends of his hair to bead on his bare shoulders and run down his arms in little rivulets.

Their eyes meet and Nicolo goes still for a moment, then lets the shirt drop as he moves forward. He crosses the room in two strides and slots into Yusuf's arms as if he'd never left them, and all potential words of greeting vanish from Yusuf’s mind in favor of making up for two decades of not having this man’s lips on his.

Nicolo pulls back after far too short a time and looks Yusuf straight in the eye as he drops gracefully to his knees. Yusuf’s mouth goes dry as Nicolo gathers the hem of his tunic in both hands and starts to guide it upward.

“I want you in my mouth,” Nicolo says, the first words to pass between them, and at Yusuf’s nod he leans in to get at the first inch of bare skin revealed to him. He noses along the line of a hip while his clever fingers go to work on Yusuf’s trousers and Yusuf pulls his tunic up and over his head. As soon as his hands are free he puts them in Nicolo’s hair, resting there lightly. He feels himself hardening, the sight before him enough to bring any man to attention quickly.

Nicolo takes his time, nuzzling his way from Yusuf’s hip to the trail of dark hair on his lower belly. He ducks his head to nip at Yusuf’s thigh, mouth so, _so_ close to where they both want it. 

“I’ve been thinking of this for _weeks_ ,” he breathes out, and then his mouth slides down over Yusuf’s cock.

Yusuf moans shamelessly at the pleasure of it, then nearly sobs at how good, how _right_ it feels to have Nicolo’s warm mouth around him. Hands braced on Nicolo’s head, he gives a small, experimental thrust and receives an encouraging _mm_ in response.

He rocks in and out gently, going slow more because he doesn’t want to get carried away and risk hurting Nicolo than because he has any hope of making this last long. When Nicolo looks up at him, holding eye contact as he takes Yusuf as deep as he can, that’s it; Yusuf shouts and comes down his throat, and Nicolo closes his eyes as he swallows like he’s taking the Sacrament.

Yusuf gives into the trembling in his legs and drops to his knees beside Nicolo, pulling him close to chase the taste of himself on Nicolo’s tongue. 

“ _You_ ,” he pants between frantic kisses. “I had plans for you, you know. Ones that didn’t involve you _incapacitating_ me as soon as I walked through the door.”

Nicolo grins in unrepentant triumph, reaching to embrace him, and Yusuf’s thoughts stretch back centuries, recalling the way they teased one another on the battlefield, the endless dance of gaining and losing the upper hand. If he could go back and tell that version of himself, consumed equally with bloodlust and yearning, that one day they’d be here, kissing sweetly on the floor of a Mediterranean cottage with no blood staining either of them, would the younger him believe it?

“I needed that first,” Nicolo says, curling his hands around Yusuf’s where they frame his face. “Too much to let you distract me with anything else. But now I’d very much like to know what your plans were.”

Yusuf gets to his feet, tugging Nicolo with him. “Well, for one, I planned on us making it as far as the bed.” To start with, at least; he fully intends for them to have each other on every convenient flat surface in this cottage before they leave it. 

They finish undressing each other on the way there, leaving a haphazard trail of clothing to the narrow bed tucked against one wall. Yusuf sits on the edge of the bed and tugs Nicolo by the waist to stand between his knees. Nicolo runs his fingers through Yusuf’s curls and traces a thumb along his jawline, studying his features as if checking them against his memory.

“And now?” he asks after a moment, and in reply Yusuf reclines on the bed, legs open. 

“I want you to take me,” he says, and watches Nicolo’s eyes go dark and his throat work as he swallows. 

They’ve done this more often the other way around; Nicolo loves having Yusuf inside him and Yusuf can never deny him when he asks for it. But just like Nicolo’s spent a long time thinking about sucking Yusuf’s cock, Yusuf has spent enough lonely nights fingering himself open and wishing it were Nicolo to want this _now_.

“Yes,” Nicolo says, and “Don’t move,” and then he’s crossing to where his pack lies in one corner of the room, taking out a small bottle. Coming back to the bed, he braces a knee on the mattress between Yusuf’s legs and leans down for a quick kiss before he thumbs the stopper free from the bottle. Yusuf catches a whiff of the oil, fragrant with herbs, as Nicolo pours a little into his hand and sets the bottle aside carefully, not a drop spilt. His focus narrows to the sight of Nicolo’s hand, the way his fingers shine with the oil as he rubs them together, coating them thoroughly.

Yusuf has loved Nicolo's hands since the first time he saw them ungauntleted, an obsession only slightly less intense than that with his pale eyes and the gentle curve of his nose. Once, when they still called each other enemy, he drew sketches of Nicolo's hands and profile from memory, then burned them in a fit of guilty anger at his own weak and lustful heart. 

When you've lived for hundreds of years and are likely to live hundreds more, you learn to be gracious with yourself, to forgive your own foolish mistakes and petty cruelties and save self-recrimination for the sins that matter. It's the only way to make living with yourself for that long even remotely bearable. Yusuf keeps his personal list of unforgivable sins short, but burning those drawings of Nicolo is always on it. He's drawn him many times since then, from memory and life both, but that those first sketches were destroyed forever by his own hand is something he'll regret until he finally dies for good. 

The first touch between his legs pulls Yusuf out of his guilty reverie, shatters all thought of anything but here and now. Nicolo is as careful and precise in this as anything, touching Yusuf as if he’s something rare and precious. His free hand goes to Yusuf’s leg, hooking under his knee to spread his thighs even more as he opens him up with maddening patience. His face is intent, serious, but then green eyes dart up to Yusuf’s face and his mouth twitches in a smile just as his fingers find the place that sends sparks up Yusuf’s spine. Yusuf tips his head back on a moan and shuts his eyes, partly at the pleasure of it and partly because if Nicolo insists on eye contact while his fingers are doing _that_ , Yusuf is going to come all over himself like an impatient youth before he even gets Nicolo’s cock inside him.

“Now,” he pants when he’s had enough. “Now, Nicolo, _please_.”

Nicolo says something as his fingers slip from Yusuf’s body, and Yusuf is so far gone he doesn’t even catch if it’s Italian or Arabic or something else entirely, just that it’s low and sweet and immediately followed by Nicolo kneeling fully on the bed and sliding his hands under Yusuf’s thighs to lift his hips up.

The first instant of being breached arches Yusuf’s back and punches the air from his lungs. Nicolo goes so slow, so careful, but Yusuf hasn’t taken anything thicker than his own fingers since the last time they were together, and it takes a moment for his body to remember, to adjust and reorient itself around the press of Nicolo’s cock.

When he catches his breath, Nicolo is petting at his flanks like he’s a spooked horse, voice a steady murmur of _easy, amore, easy, I have you_. He’s pushed in to the hilt and now he’s holding himself still, trembling a little with the effort. Yusuf reaches a hand up and Nicolo catches it, twining their fingers together, and then Yusuf squeezes Nicolo’s sides with his thighs and says “ _Move_ ,” and Nicolo does.

It’s honestly a bit of a blur after that, Yusuf so lost in the searing pleasure of it that he doesn’t even know what language he’s using to urge Nicolo on. He knows that they keep their grip on each other’s hands throughout, and that at some point Nicolo hitches up his leg and bites the side of his knee and Yusuf retaliates by pulling his hair, and that they come at almost the same moment, cries of release ringing out in tandem. 

He comes back to himself panting in the aftermath, Nicolo’s fingers tracing through the wetness on his stomach. When Nicolo moves to pull out and Yusuf squeezes his legs again and murmurs “Stay,”, the look Nicolo gives him is as every bit as breathless and undone as Yusuf feels. Nicolo shifts just enough to lie down, pressing tiny kisses to Yusuf’s collarbone as his cock goes soft inside him, and Yusuf strokes Nicolo’s sweat-damp hair and holds him there until he goes heavy with sleep, Yusuf’s eyes drifting shut soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started thinking about what my personal take on Malta smut would be, I got hit with the idea of them reuniting after some time apart and Nicky going down on Joe IMMEDIATELY, and things kind of went from there. 
> 
> I have tentatively split this up into three chapters, the next of which is pretty much pure smut and the last one really diving into The Feels, so that's what's ahead. Tags will be updated if anything significant comes up.


	2. Chapter 2

The window in the bedroom looks out over a steep drop to the sea, so they can open the painted shutters without fear of anyone wandering by to see them. It’s nearing sunset now, late light slanting through clouds and glittering on the water below, and Yusuf lies on the bed with one arm behind his head and a sea breeze stirring his hair, thinking idly about sketching the view if he can convince himself to get up and retrieve the paper and charcoal from his pack.

His gaze shifts to the door as Nicolo comes through it, juggling an armful of food and a cup of wine. He didn’t bother to get dressed before going into the other room, and Yusuf enjoys a different sort of view as Nicolo crosses to set his burden down on the little table near the bed. Nicolo sits on the edge of the bed, which is too narrow for them to both lie on without lying close enough to make eating and drinking awkward, and holds out a fig. Instead of taking it from him, Yusuf holds his wrist and leans forward to take a bite. Nicolo offers him the wine next and, when Yusuf doesn't sit up enough to drink without spilling, leans down to catch the excess with his mouth.

They devour everything Nicolo brought like that, eating from one another's hands and sipping from a single cup. There's something primally satisfying about it, Yusuf thinks as he places an olive on Nicolo's tongue and Nicolo's lips close around his fingertips briefly. 

After, when they're sticky from fruit and littered with crumbs (to say nothing of the mess from earlier drying on their skin), it's Yusuf's turn to get up, dragging the wash basin closer to the bed and finding a clean cloth. 

Nicolo's cock, soft against his thigh, stirs to attention when Yusuf rubs the damp cloth over it, and Yusuf grins up at him. "Ready for more?"

"Always," Nicolo assures him. He fumbles through the detritus on the table until he finds the oil, tossing it to Yusuf, and settles into the space Yusuf vacated on the bed, one knee bent and his legs falling open in a clear invitation. "My turn."

Yusuf leans down to kiss him, Nicolo's mouth open and wet and full of lingering sweetness from the figs, and turns him on his side, slotting himself into the space behind Nicolo on the mattress. He takes his time arranging them; Nicolo is sweet and needy the way he gets when he wants to be fucked, but those first two rounds took the edge off their desperation, and he looks so beautiful with golden light spilling over him through the window that Yusuf can't help but want to go slow, admire him every step of the way.

Nicolo hisses through his teeth when Yusuf slides a finger into him, a sharp breath Yusuf feels against his arm where it pillows Nicolo’s head. The grip of his body is tight enough that Yusuf stops and pours more oil over his fingers before he goes any further. Nicolo’s come a long way from the young man taught since childhood that any act of pleasure was a sin to be confessed, but as shamelessly as he'll beg for Yusuf’s cock when they’re together, there’s enough lingering Catholic repression rattling around in him that Yusuf wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t fingered himself once in the time they spent apart. 

When Yusuf adds a second finger, Nicolo’s whole body clenches around it. He grips Yusuf’s other hand where it lies on the pillow, says his name over and over, and Yusuf genuinely can’t tell if the hitch in his voice and the way he’s writhing mean _more_ or _stop_.

He leans over and nibbles the shell of Nicolo’s ear, then murmurs, “I need more words than that, _hayati_.”

Nicolo pulls the hand he's holding to his mouth, pressing desperate kisses to it, then breathes "Keep going," so Yusuf nuzzles the space behind his ear and works his fingers in deeper.

The first time they'd done this, Nicolo had been so overwhelmed he'd lost his words entirely. There'd been tears in his eyes and Yusuf had started to pull back, horrified to think he'd crossed a line he shouldn't have. Nicolo had shaken his head, the motion causing tears to spill from the corners of his eyes and run down into his hair, and locked both legs around Yusuf's waist to hold him inside. When he'd found his voice again all he could say was _please_ , _please_ as Yusuf pinned his wrists to the ground where they'd spread their blankets, _please_ as his hips bucked up and he came without a single touch to his cock, _please_ as Yusuf buried his face in Nicolo's neck and came inside him for the first time.

Yusuf had woken the next morning to find him praying for forgiveness, kneeling on the hard ground with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, and he’d been angrier than the time Nicolo had put a crossbow bolt between his eyes from a hundred yards away.

 _Do you think what we did last night was a sin?_ he’d demanded, and Nicolo had blinked like he didn’t understand the question. _I think I now need you inside me more than God, so yes, I think that makes it a sin,_ he replied, and Yusuf hadn’t known whether to be flattered or further irritated.

That was one of the gulfs in understanding it took a long time for them to bridge, how deeply Nicolo’s upbringing had instilled the guilt he felt over any kind of earthly pleasure, and how much it meant that he would fight through that in order to be with Yusuf.

There's no guilt or shame in Nicolo now, but he still gets just as consumed by being taken, just as shattered by it, and Yusuf never tires of watching it. He works Nicolo open until he's limp with relaxation, head lolling against his arm, until when Yusuf replaces his fingers with his cock it's a slow, easy glide.

Yusuf is every bit as overwhelmed as Nicolo then, pressing his face to the back of Nicolo's neck as he brings his arm around his chest to hold him from behind. It feels like coming home, being buried in this tight heat, smelling Nicolo's skin and feeling his heart beat strong and sure.

"Nico," he breathes out with the first lazy roll of his hips. "Nicolo, I--"

Nicolo clasps the arm across his chest and twists in Yusuf's hold, craning his neck enough that Yusuf can lean forward and kiss him as they move together. He looks like something out of a dream, glowing in the light of the sunset. 

" _Habibi_ ," Nicolo whispers, nose brushing Yusuf's cheek, and Yusuf shuts his eyes to savor how the endearment sounds in his accent. 

" _Cuore mio_ ," he replies, then gathers Nicolo close and claims his mouth again.

They stay like that for what feels like a long time, Yusuf at times barely moving inside Nicolo, the air around them thick and warm as honey. Finally, Yusuf's hand trails down Nicolo's chest to find his cock, flushed and hard against his belly. His fingers move over the length of it steadily, twisting a little on the upstroke, until Nicolo shudders and falls apart in his arms with one last cry of his name. Then, at last, Yusuf chases his own release in earnest, mouthing at the curve of Nicolo's shoulder and thrusting hard as he pours himself into Nicolo's body.

They pull apart faster this time, because Yusuf's limbs are heavy and Nicolo's eyes are hooded and they both know that if they fall asleep entwined again, they'll likely stay that way until morning. They clean up and settle back onto the bed face to face this time, Nicolo lazily slotting one leg between Yusuf's, and lie for a while trading soft kisses to each other's mouths and throats and eyelids.

"I missed this," Nicolo says, voice thick with impending sleep. "Missed you."

"This 'twenty years apart' business _was_ your idea," Yusuf points out, not as bitterly as he might, because the past few hours have made it hard to feel bitter about anything. 

"And I still think it was needed," Nicolo counters. "But I'm glad it's over."

Yusuf wants to ask if that means Nicolo's settled the question he needed time and space to answer, if he wants them to stay together for good this time. Two things stop him, the first being that he's sunk in a post-coital sleepiness that makes forming complete sentences seem highly overrated. The second is that, simply put, it's no small thing to commit to eternity (or the closest thing to it) with one person. As assured as he is of Nicolo's love for him, forever is a lot to ask.

The question isn't going anywhere, Yusuf reminds himself. There's time for it. For now, he tucks Nicolo's head down against his chest, and falls asleep to the smell of Nicolo's hair and the sound of the sea close by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squints at Nicky's lingering medieval Catholic repression rearing its head in the middle of a sex scene* How'd that get there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this is taking longer to write than I'd hoped, but thankfully it's also easy to split up. So here's this, and then there'll be an epilogue of sorts (spoiler: it's more porn) hopefully soon.

Contrary to certain vows Yusuf may have made to himself on particularly lonely nights, they do find the time to do things besides fuck, eat, and sleep. In the morning, while they're getting dressed, Nicolo says, "Oh, I have something for you," and hands him a volume of old, familiar Greek writings newly translated into Italian. Yusuf kisses the corner of Nicolo's mouth as he takes it, then reaches into his own pack and produces a bag of halva.

"What does that smell like to you?" he asks, and Nicolo presses the bag to his nose and inhales deeply, closing his eyes for a moment.

"That stall by the gates of the Muslim quarter in Tyre?" he asks eventually, and when Yusuf nods, "There's _no_ way the man who used to make this is still--"

"His granddaughter and her husband live in Damascus now," Yusuf says. "I found them by chance in a market there and had to pretend this was my father’s favorite sweet from his childhood."

That sets off a little flurry of gifting, as seemingly half the contents of their packs are years’ worth of small, sentimental presents for each other. Nicolo almost secures the title of best gift with a little cake of Aleppo soap, but then Yusuf presents the one he's been saving for last--a collection of the best drawings he's done while they were apart, bound together with twine--and the enthusiasm with which Nicolo thanks him ensures they don't make it out of the bedroom to find breakfast for a while longer.

Later, as the sun climbs toward midmorning, they go down to the sea and swim until they're tired, then lie on the shore to let the sun and the breeze dry them, hands _mostly_ staying in polite places in case of passersby. Nicolo’s fair skin is turning pink and gold by the time they stir, Yusuf’s own burnished a shade or two darker as well.

Yusuf retrieves their clothes from the sun-warmed rock where they left them, but doesn’t pass Nicolo’s to him yet. Just a little longer to look his fill, he thinks, and then knows he’s been caught when Nicolo raises up on his elbows with an arched brow. 

“May I have my clothes, Yusuf?” he asks teasingly, and Yusuf tucks the bundle under his arm with an innocent look.

“Are you sure you need them? Clothes are terribly overrated, in my opinion.”

“Spoken like someone who isn’t going to get sunburned if we stay like this much longer,” Nicolo counters as he stands. 

He moves too-casually toward Yusuf, then darts forward and makes a grab for the clothes, which turns into an impromptu wrestling match, which turns into both their clothes scattered on the ground as Yusuf pins Nicolo against the rock, hands on his hips, and kneels in front of him.

Nicolo sucks in a breath as his hands find their way into Yusuf's hair. "Someone might see us," he says, even though the rocks around them are tall enough to offer good cover from every direction save the open sea. 

Yusuf leans in and licks a stripe up the length of Nicolo's cock, then back down. He takes the head into his mouth for just a moment, tongue curling around it. Then sits back on his heels and looks up at Nicolo, wide-eyed and panting for breath. 

"You're right, someone might see us," he says, and makes as if to rise. 

Nicolo's hands tighten in his hair. "Don't you _dare_ \--" he gets out, then breaks off on a moan as Yusuf leans back in to swallow him down. 

It's absolutely worth the sand digging into Yusuf's knees, as well as the little bit that ends up in his mouth.

***

In the afternoon, they take a walk along the coast, keeping a wide berth from any other people they see. It’s not quite as precarious to be Arab in Malta now as it was when Charles of Anjou controlled the islands, and anyone who made trouble with the two of them would get more than they bargained for. Still, brawling with intolerant locals is nowhere on Yusuf's list of what he wants to do on this trip. When they stop into the little village to get some fresh fish for dinner, he keeps his head down and lets Nicolo do the talking even though they both know he won’t get the best price.

They're about halfway through their walk back when Nicolo’s hands start wandering. Small, almost innocent touches at first--knuckles bumping the back of Yusuf's hand when their arms brush, a hand on his shoulder as Nicolo points out the sleek shapes of dolphins out in the sea and his fingertips dip past Yusuf's collar for just a moment, grazing the back of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. By the time they're nearing the cottage and there's no one visible on the road before or behind them, Nicolo has his hand fully inside Yusuf's shirt, splayed against the small of his back.

As soon as they get through the door, Yusuf tosses their packages onto the table and rounds on Nicolo, crowding him against the wall. 

"You are a damned _menace_ ," he growls, tugging the neck of Nicolo's shirt open and biting his collarbone. 

Not the slightest bit sorry, Nicolo puts his arms around Yusuf's shoulders and turns his head to whisper in his ear. “You’re so beautiful. You always are, but right now, all dark from the sun with sea breeze in your curls...God’s blood, Yusuf, you _undo_ me.”

Yusuf kisses him until he has to stop in order for Nicolo to pull his shirt over his head. For a few moments he can’t think of anything but putting his hands and mouth all over Nicolo and getting Nicolo’s on him. When Nicolo flips their positions and turns him to face the wall, Yusuf pauses. “I thought we were going to eat first, but if you want to get the oil…”

“Wait,” Nicolo says as he gets Yusuf’s trousers open and pushes them down. “Put your legs together.”

Yusuf obeys, moaning as he realizes where this is going, and a moment later feels Nicolo’s cock pressing between his closed thighs.

This is something they did more often early on, when Nicolo was still working up to admitting he wanted a cock inside him, or to put his cock in someone. These days, if they don’t have time for preparation or don’t want to deal with the mess, they tend to go straight to mouths or hands or just rubbing frantically against each other.

But right now this is perfect, right now Yusuf can’t think of anything better than the feeling of Nicolo thrusting into the cleft of his thighs, Nicolo pressing him against the wall and just _using_ his body because he wants Yusuf too much to hold back. He tips his head back onto Nicolo’s shoulder and lets himself sag a little, trusting Nicolo to take his weight. He does, hands braced on the wall to either side of Yusuf, still whispering sweet, filthy things to him until Yusuf barely needs to touch himself in order to come.

Afterward, Nicolo seems almost ashamed of his own lack of control, so Yusuf kisses him slow and sweet and tells him he’s absolutely not allowed to apologize.

***

They cook the fish in a fire pit in the yard and linger out there over cups of wine, side-by-side on a carved wooden bench as the fire dies down and the stars come out.

After two days spent drinking their fill of each other, Yusuf can feel the weight of the discussion they haven’t had yet settling in the air around them. He glances over at Nicolo, watching how the firelight paints his skin as he tilts his head back to look at the stars. As if sensing his thoughts, Nicolo turns his head toward Yusuf and says, quietly, “I suppose we should talk about what comes after this.”

Yusuf nods, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “I suppose we should.”

“Go on,” Nicolo says, because he can tell Yusuf already has in mind what he wants to say.

"We took this time apart so we could be sure our feelings wouldn't change," Yusuf begins. "For me, the only change is that absence made me want you even more, which I wouldn't have thought possible. I've spent the last twenty years in perpetual twilight, Nicolo, because you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars, and I would sooner die a hundred slow deaths than leave your side again." He hears Nicolo's breath catch softly at that, and turns to face him, taking his hands. Turning them in his grasp, he strokes a thumb along the tender skin of Nicolo's wrist, bringing it to press against where his pulse beats. "I want this forever. I want _us_ forever. I want us to live at each other's sides until we're so old we'd forget our own names if we weren't both there to remind each other. And at the same time, if someone offered me a choice between living forever alone, or one short lifetime with you, I wouldn't let them finish speaking before I chose you."

Nicolo frees his wrists to take Yusuf's face in his hands, pulling him close, and Yusuf kisses him hard but pulls back before he can get lost in it. He tips his forehead against Nicolo's, closing his eyes. "And I know what you feel for me is deep, and true," he goes on. "You've never left me in doubt of that. But I don't know if you want forever in the same way I do, and that _terrifies_ me, my heart. It terrifies me to think your answer won't be the one I want, but I have to know, because if you stay I want it to be for both of us, not just for my sake."

"Yusuf," Nicolo sighs, and lifts his head to kiss his brow. "I'm sorry." Panic spikes through Yusuf, and it must show on his face, because Nicolo hastily says, "No, that's not--I'm sorry I've never told you what I should have."

He moves back to look Yusuf in the eyes, smiling ruefully. "Hundreds of years, and your words can still make me feel like I'm being wooed for the first time. I've always tried to show how I feel with deeds, with my hands and my body, but I've never been half the poet you are. And I regret that, because you deserve to be wooed more than anyone I've ever met. You have the most beautiful heart I've ever known, _amore_ , and that you've chosen to trust me with it is a thing I'll struggle to be worthy of for the rest of my days."

Yusuf sits back, reassured, even if Nicolo still hasn't said _yes, me too, forever_ yet. "Tell me," he urges. “I don't need poetry, _habibi_ , I just want to know what's in your heart."

Nicolo looks down for a moment, with the little furrow in his brow that means he's searching for the right words. "Six years ago, I took work guarding caravans on the Silk Road. On one journey, there was a man whose wife was waiting for him in Antioch; they'd been apart for a year. He told me all the things he missed most about her--her smile, the songs she would sing to herself while baking bread, how sharp her tongue could get if she suspected anyone of trying to cheat her. He asked if I had anyone I missed like that and without even thinking, I said yes. He asked if that person was waiting for me at the end of our journey and I said no, but if God willed it I would see them again soon enough."

Yusuf puts a hand on his knee and Nicolo covers it with his own, then goes on. "Then he said that when I did, I should do what he was planning to--every day for a year, no matter what else happened, he was going to make sure to kiss his wife and tell her he loved her at least twice, to make up for the year's worth of days he couldn't."

He looks up at Yusuf then, eyes shining in the firelight, and lifts their joined hands to his mouth. "I love you," he murmurs against the back of Yusuf's hand, then leans in. His next kiss lands at the corner of Yusuf's mouth, and Nicolo draws back enough to meet his eyes before repeating, solemn as any vow, "I love you."

Yusuf can't speak for a long moment, can't get anything past the tightness in his throat and chest. He takes hold of Nicolo's chin to keep him from withdrawing any further, and when he can, asks, "You planning to do that every day for the next twenty years, Nico?"

"I was thinking the next two thousand," Nicolo replies, and then he's out of his seat and kneeling in front of Yusuf, looking up at him with bright eyes. "Or however long it is we have. However many days I have left in this world, Yusuf, every one of them is yours." 

Yusuf slides to the ground with him like there's a magnet pulling him to Nicolo or a cord drawing tight around them both. Nicolo's face is in his hands and Nicolo's hands are gripping his arms and they're kissing, and then Yusuf laughs in sheer giddy delight, which makes it hard to keep kissing, but he does his best.

"I love you," he says, still close enough to breathe the words directly into Nicolo's mouth. "God, I _love_ you." 

He has no idea how long they stay like that, kissing and holding onto each other for dear life. Eventually, Nicolo tips his forehead against Yusuf's and murmurs, "I want--"

"Ask me for anything," Yusuf says, and means it; if Nicolo asked for his heart right now he'd cut it out, if he asked for the moon, Yusuf would start looking for a rope long enough to get there. 

"Bed," Nicolo says simply. "Take me to bed, _habibi_."

That, he can _definitely_ do.


	4. Chapter 4

The cottage is dark inside, but they throw open all the shutters to let the moon and stars paint everything silver, and anyway Yusuf doesn’t need that much light to move through the small rooms, or to find Nicolo’s waist with his hands and shoulder with his mouth. His orders are clear; _take me to bed_ , Nicolo had said, not _take me right now_ or _just get me inside and get my clothes off._

 _Take me to bed_ , so Yusuf wraps his arms around Nicolo from behind and walks them slowly toward the bed, murmurs poetry against his neck as he strips him, lays him down with the care and gentleness Nicolo doesn’t need but deserves in abundance.

Yusuf kneels on the bed between Nicolo’s legs and maps out his body with kisses; across his shoulders and collarbone, down his chest to his stomach, along the cut of his hip and down to the soft, pale skin of his inner thigh. Nicolo twines his hands in Yusuf’s hair, letting out little sighs and moans, then a soft cry when Yusuf mouths at his cock briefly, just enough to bring him to full hardness.

Yusuf works two fingers into him, then three. Nicolo’s body opens for him easier now, but he still takes his time with it, just for the sake of watching him come apart.

“I’m not going to last much longer if you keep that up,” Nicolo warns.

“We have all night,” Yusuf points out. “Let me see you?”

Nicolo nods, one hand coming up to pet clumsily at the side of Yusuf’s face. He’s breathing hard and flushed prettily all down his neck and chest, cock standing up against his stomach.

“Look at you,” Yusuf murmurs. “You going to come for me, Nicolo? Come now and then again around my cock?” As soon as he’s said that he wants it fiercely, wants to coax one climax from Nicolo with his fingers and then fuck him into another without giving him a chance to catch his breath. He wants Nicolo to cry from how good it feels so he can kiss away every single tear.

Still working his fingers inside Nicolo, Yusuf gets his other hand around his cock. It only takes a few firm strokes for him to come messily all over himself, back arching. Yusuf watches his chest heave as he gulps in air, watches him twitch with aftershocks. _Mine_ , he thinks, and his heart feels too full for his body to contain it.

His fingers are still moving, flexing and curling slowly inside Nicolo’s body, until Nicolo grabs his wrist with a little whine. 

“Enough,” he gasps. “Enough, Yusuf, I need you now. Please.”

“You have me,” Yusuf says as he moves into position, hands on Nicolo’s thighs. “You have me forever.”

The look on Nicolo’s face is something like awe, and it stays there as Yusuf enters him slowly, until it’s too much and his eyes flutter closed as his head tips back.

Yusuf leans forward to cover the exposed line of Nicolo’s throat, and Nicolo’s arms come up and around him, hands splayed on his back. “Hold on,” Yusuf murmurs to him, then pulls out almost all the way and slams back in.

Nicolo makes a sound that’s almost a scream, fingers digging into Yusuf’s back. Yusuf does it again, and again, drawing more desperate sounds from him every time he snaps his hips forward. He can feel Nicolo’s cock jutting against his stomach, rapidly filling again.

Yusuf lifts his head to seek Nicolo’s mouth, and Nicolo kisses him breathlessly between little panting moans. He _is_ crying, or Yusuf is, or they both are, wetness smearing between their cheeks as they move together.

Yusuf comes first this time, burying his face in Nicolo’s shoulder with a shout. He keeps thrusting even as he starts to go soft, reaching between them to grip Nicolo’s cock again. His hand moves fast over the hard length of it, stroking until Nicolo comes with an almost pained noise, his whole body trembling. 

Nicolo winces a little when Yusuf pulls out of him, then lets his arms fall limp at his sides with a breathless laugh. “I can’t move,” he declares. “I think you broke me.”

“You’ll get better,” Yusuf points out, but still lets Nicolo lie there as he cleans them both up, then rolls him onto his side and spoons up behind him, arms going around his waist.

“I love you,” he says softly, because it’s been entire minutes since he last told Nicolo that. 

“Mmm,” Nicolo hums, and folds his hands over Yusuf’s, fingers fitting into the spaces between Yusuf’s knuckles. “Love you.”

Yusuf slips one leg between Nicolo’s and presses his face to the nape of his neck, nestling close all along the length of their bodies. He could hold him like this every night for a thousand years and not tire of it, he thinks, and falls asleep with a warm glow in his chest at the thought of doing exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m behind on replying to comments on this, but I’m so grateful for all the love this fic has gotten so far. These two and their love have stolen my heart so completely, and it’s been great sharing that love with y’all. ❤️❤️❤️


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